


the Yin Yang Effect

by CobaltTheFox



Category: Samurai Jack (Cartoon)
Genre: Adventuring, Aku x Jack, AkuJack, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blasphemy, Blood and Gore, Deception, Definitely not abandoned, Demons, Jaku, Light Sadism, M/M, Manipulation, Mild Language, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Subject to Proofreading, Updates Sporadically, trickery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4848803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltTheFox/pseuds/CobaltTheFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aku, the brutally violent, sadistic Emperor of Earth pursues a really stupid and cruel idea that winds up backfiring. Spectacularly. [Ongoing as of 03/31/2017; Updates sporadically.]</p><p>[UPDATE 03/31/2017:] Posted Chapter 4!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ringleader

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AbbySomething](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbySomething/gifts).



**Introduction/Author’s Note:**

I rewatched Samurai Jack a while ago, and decided I appreciated the series far more now than I did in the past. Faced with an urge to write- especially after having read “Dancing with the Devil” by Ansuz- I present to you my humble offering.

This is my take on a love-hate Jaku (Jack x Aku) relationship. The way I’m looking at it now, it’s rated M for language, violence, gore, blood, manipulation and other assorted offensive goodies. Tags will be updated as necessary. Fair warning for those of you who have come to expect smut from fanfictions, I do not intend on smutting with this one. But, that might change. We’ll see. ;)

I ask that you forgive me for any cultural/language errors. I tried my best to research things before I wrote about them.

Cheers,

~Cobalt

 **Warnings for this chapter:** Pretty violent stuff. Blood and gore. Also, there’s references to maiming and hints of manipulation to come. c:

**This Chapter was first published September 21st, 2015 and last updated June 16 th, 2016.**

Terrible curved talons cut deep into the already age-old gouges of the throne’s stone armrest as Aku gritted his teeth in frustration. He glared daggers at the magical screen he had summoned, his fierce gaze never leaving the accursed Samurai whose image suspended itself before him. That man, whose mere _mention_ could leave entire armies cowering in fear, had been the sole focus of a grossly-unsuccessful campaign for far too long.

For a time, the campaign had been exciting in a warped kind of way, Aku reflected quietly to himself with a sip from his favorite mug. The thrill of the chase and the familiar smell of blood in the air had called forth his most basic demonic instincts from the very beginning, and for a time the rush had reminded him of his earlier years when he was but a young demon— when his only objective had been the prompt delivery of bloody, indiscriminate Hell.

But lately, this trouble with the Samurai had become more than just an idle distraction with which to occupy his passing interest, and had assembled itself into something closely resembling a clinical obsession. Indeed, his interest had become so acute that it bordered on the psychotic, for virtually every waking thought was consumed with daydreams of the Samurai’s demise and the harebrained plans to go about it. Even when he went to bed,— if only to pass the time sleeping, not because he actually needed the rest or felt tired— Aku would dream of the Samurai, his defeat, and the many wrongs the man had committed, on a regular basis. He would go to bed thinking of it, and when the sun would rise in the morning the Samurai would be the first thing on his mind as he cursed the infernal light shining in his eyes.

Of course, if asked about it, Aku would never admit out loud that he _liked_ this game of cat-and-mouse. But in the privacy of his own mind there was no lying to himself. He did not just like it; if anything, he _loved_ it. This game of wits had lasted for far longer than he had ever expected it to, and as time went on Aku found he craved and rather enjoyed the challenge that the Samurai presented. And so, it went without saying that if the outcome of their little conflict did not directly threaten his position as supreme ruler of his pitiful rock, he would surely seek the means to prolong it. But… of course, that was information he kept to himself.

The man had first opposed his Empire several millennia ago, only a few years after Aku had stolen it, and consequently had been sent into the future as punishment. Since then, the so-called “Samurai Jack”, as he was dubbed by the people of this time, had been quite the nuisance for the future that Aku had spent those many millennia carefully sculpting in his absence. Of course, in hindsight, Aku figured he probably shouldn’t have been surprised that the young Prince who lost his promised kingdom had grown up to become such a headstrong little insect.

This treason was a good portion of what led Aku to _hate_ Jack so viciously, and with the unswerving dedication of every fibre of his essence, but that certainly was not all that the former Prince had done to incite his wrath.

Put simply, the Samurai did nothing but cause all sorts of trouble wherever he went. He just _could not_ leave well enough alone, and it became increasingly apparent to Aku that freeing the oppressed and liberating the world’s maggots were all that the infernal mortal would do with his time. It was always “run over here and help this worthless person”, then “jump over there to help that one”, and quite frankly Aku was getting sick of hearing about it. No matter where he was, fresh tales of Jack’s disgusting “ _princely_ ” humility and selfless sacrifice seemed to reach him on an hourly basis. He just could not seem to escape them.

And as time went by, Aku began to notice that each tale followed a similar pattern: improbable acts of athleticism were always interwoven seamlessly with the off-handed way in which Jack single-handedly leveled an entire army. In the end the whole creation would, nine times out of ten, be topped with a healthy sprinkling of side-quests in the name of “honor”, “humility”, “sympathy” and a slew of other perfectly infantile human concepts. Every tale stunk to the high Heavens and left Aku with the not-at-all exaggerated urge to retch.

Aku dared to glance at the portal hovering before him, and his lips curled subconsciously in contempt at the image that greeted him.

In the one-sided portal, the man lay with his back against a wind-stripped tree trunk, his woven straw hat covering his face as he dozed. Before him lay a smoldering camp fire, long since doused by sand, while overhead, in the darkening night sky, the stars twinkled gently as if betraying the turbulent times upon which they overlooked. In the distance, the gentle, ever-present flicker of a village signal fire signified the samurai’s next destination like a star that had fallen in the valley.

The enchanted katana laid within an arm’s reach of the slumbering warrior— an ever-present reminder of his lethal abilities and his threat to the empire. Aku’s scowl deepened instinctively with distaste as his eyes absently traced the sheath, remembering all too clearly the excruciating pain that the unique weapon within could inflict on his person. The sword alone made the samurai even more of a nuisance, if that were possible.

Yes, this was an ordinary image. One that he was quite used to seeing, actually, but it did not dull the bitter hatred that churned restlessly in his soul. _Just once_ , Aku thought wistfully, _I’d like to turn to this channel and see something worthwhile._ Like a good old-fashioned Vlad-Dracula-style impaling, perhaps.

Aku relaxed his grip on the armrest as he willed the flames to swallow the offensive image once more, and he slumped, beyond exasperated, in his chair as foolhardy plans cavorted through his mind. _Strike now, while he’s unawares.._ his demonic instincts urged in their unearthly silken whisper, but ill-bought experience pleaded its case equally as well; the samurai was a notoriously light sleeper with masterfully-honed reflexes. Surprising him would be extraordinarily difficult if not outright impossible, and that knowledge easily silenced the nagging urging of his instincts.

The demon sighed and rubbed his face with one gnarled paw as he weighed his options. With the largely incompetent minions he had, his odds of victory without a surprise attack might as well have been zero.

 _If only there were some way to engineer the perfect soldier_ , he thought wistfully as he rose from his great flaming chair, at once growing restless as he eyed his eternally flaming surroundings with a sense of detachment and racked his brain for a creative idea as he began to pace.

Briefly, he found himself recalling the so-called “WarBugs™” that were at present the bulk of his army. For any other target, the robotic insects were the epitome of ruthlessness, tactical prowess, and competence, but it was apparent to Aku that they were mere playthings to the Samurai— indeed, their industrial-grade exoskeletons were equal in worth to whetting stones against that **blasted** katana he wielded— and this had continually proven itself a great disappointment to Aku, although he supposed he should have known that it was a fool’s dream and a coward’s way out, sending robots to do his dirty work. He found himself distantly wishing that the deadline for the insects’ mass upgrades would hurry up and get here, for perhaps _then_ it would be enough... The thought trailed off on its own. The idea that any machine would be enough to overcome the Samurai was hopelessly juvenile, and yet Aku knew he would send the bugs out again and again in the future despite knowing it was all in vain.

“Perhaps brute force isn’t practical,” he spoke aloud before he could stop himself, and immediately questioned the thought’s origin. Brute force had long been the traditional method of demons. But then again, other demons were failures in ways that only he had succeeded. This fact, too, was in his credit. Perhaps the key to victory would be found in a method not quite as physical.

Aku’s eyes once again found the blistering Hellfire which surrounded him, and he looked through its eternally writhing tendrils without seeing them. A distant memory began to form at the edge of his consciousness, and Aku reached for it blindly. It had involved a disguise, a clever one, naturally, that Jack hadn’t seen through right away. Something about long black garments and a jagged blade dark as a starless night sky. The thought solidified abruptly, and he grabbed at it feverishly before it could disintegrate once more.

Here was the beginnings of an idea:

Ikra, his female disguise. The green-skinned warrior woman had somehow managed to carry him closer to victory than any other disguise ever had before, but what was it _exactly_ about Ikra that had made everything work so flawlessly well? He frowned deeper and resumed his pacing. He recalled the foolish, childlike trust and something (else) resembling fondness that seemed to lurk quietly in the endless depths of Jack’s dark, ebony eyes whenever Ikra had been around. The nights that they had camped together in the desert, it was true that Aku had wanted nothing more than simply to kill him, and yet… Why hadn’t he sprung at his chance? Here, Aku’s stride hesitated momentarily as though his body as a whole had registered the implications, but it simply was not so. It was not the novelty of friendship, nor had it been the strange mutual trust, nor was it the alien expression of fondness that Aku had seen in Jack’s eyes in the later part of their time together.. No. He refused to believe that he had spared the Samurai as a result of Jack’s benevolence reaching him in some strange way— like the creeping fingers of decay that one might witness in diseased tissue. It had simply been the great desire to avoid a confrontation and the bite of that damned katana. That was all, really.

Again, he wondered what it was about Ikra that had made her foolproof. Jack’s expression had been carefully guarded throughout much of his and “Ikra’s” acquaintance, but Aku had noticed early on that Jack seemed to look at “her” with deeper meaning hidden in his eyes than he had ever seemed to look at anyone else before or since. It was troubling, to say the least, that Aku did not recognize the alien emotion that Jack had harbored towards Ikra, but all the same Aku put aside his red flags and vague sense of discomfort and had seen her use through to the very end.

In a strange way, he reflected, having that soft expression directed at his own person had been nice. Nicer, he supposed, than it should have been, all things considered. They were, he reminded himself, the bitterest of foes, and sentiments such as those that Jack had mistakenly harbored were things that probably did not belong in a relationship as hateful and malignant as theirs. But, as a demon it was his job to put things where they did not belong, and to warp trifling mortal sentiments in pursuit of his own means. It was just the way things had to be— the way things always had been. With that fondness had come trust, and with trust would come the Samurai’s downfall.

And so, with these thoughts in mind, Aku wrote himself a mental Post-It Note to pursue later.

Satisfied with himself, he slouched back into his throne not a moment too soon.

“Excuse me, sir... May I come in...?” came a disembodied voice outside of the inferno, and Aku sighed inwardly. It just never seemed to end. He cast his eyes skyward, as if asking for strength, and reluctantly opened the gates. Claws digging into the armrests once more, he grimaced contemptuously at his visitor—a competent, yet minuscule blue demon with whom he had interacted many times before but had never cared to become acquainted with. The creature stood before him, looking more than a bit satisfied with itself, as though it had recently learned a great secret.

“For what reason do you seek my council,” Aku spoke in his usual booming tone, the question coming out as more of a bored demand than anything else. He had more important things to deal with than this buffoon— like sipping his coffee, or scheming about the Samurai, or anything else really.

The underling sniffed importantly at the question, and Aku couldn’t help but raise a singular flaming brow incredulously.

“Sir,” The underling began with an air of victory emanating about its person, grinning despite the warning signs of an irritable mood on its master’s behalf, “I have some very important news to share...”

Growing impatient, Aku was quick to interject. “I do not have time for your games,” he hissed, “Speak!” His voice shook the surrounding flames, and he narrowed his eyes further as he leaned menacingly over the creature, his great flaming eyebrows blazing higher than usual. Aku noted with satisfaction how the creature’s previous confidence had disintegrated.

The minion swallowed nervously as it regained its composure, “Right...Well, I thought you might like to know that...” The creature hesitated again, “Um, this might be something you should see for yourself...” With that, it turned and beckoned to the shadows. Aku’s eye followed its beckoning claw, and at once all his motions— such as the paw that had already risen to swipe the demon off the outcropping while his back had been turned— abruptly came to a standstill.

Approaching from the shadows just beyond the gate was a group of demons, each pointing their respective, spear-like weapon at the man they were escorting. Each demon held a chain attached to an unfriendly steel collar around the man’s neck, but nobody seemed overly keen on getting close to the man. It seemed his legacy preceded him. He had black hair, and a torn white kimono.

Although Aku seriously doubted his luck, he came to his senses with an enraged snarl and lunged forward, snatching the bound and gagged man from the middle of the approaching conglomerate of guards. Ignoring the cries of the unfortunates who were now dangling precariously by the captive’s chains, he held his subject at eye level as he scrutinized his appearance.

The captive certainly _looked_ similar to the samurai— that much was certain. However, the man’s suspiciously synthetic-looking hair had been pulled into a messy topknot that would have been laughable to the emperor under different circumstances, and his kimono was a mere replica to the genuine article.

The eyes were also strikingly different. They reflected a guarded trickle of fear, and the familiar icy determination of the Warrior was gone. Waves of defiance rolled off of this man however, just as it had from the genuine article he was impersonating, and the demon couldn’t help but find such arrogance intriguing where it would usually be aggravating.

 _Curious_ , thought Aku to himself as the first of the dangling guards lost their grip and plummeted Hell-ward with a screech, _why is this man dressed like the Samurai?_

“What is the meaning of this!?” Aku demanded aloud, his eyebrows flaring high over his horns. He regarded the man in his fist with disgust. The man had adopted a look of righteous indignation at being handled in such a way as this, Aku was keen to notice, and the emperor had a sneaking suspicion that if the man could speak he would be yelling curses. In that regard, the emperor indulged with well-concealed amusement and an alien whisper of sympathy, the human appeared to be a kindred spirit.

Further questions were silenced on the sorcerer’s lips as the remaining guards who hung from the captive’s chains began to whimper loudly at their predicament, and Aku’s eyes flicked to light upon them with a fair degree of annoyance. Reluctantly, he swung his arm to the rocky outcropping that jutted into the abyss nearby, and set the guards upon it as gently as he could muster with his mind in such a state as it was. Of course, this was not gently enough, and many of the creatures crumbled to their knees with the rough impact. _They should be thankful that their information is important_ , thought the demon to himself, _for otherwise I would gladly have flung them into the Pit._

Meanwhile, the man remaining in Aku’s fist looked upon his captors with ill-contained loathing, and Aku felt yet another rogue twinge of accordance with this strangely-dressed imposter.

“Sir...” came the timid beginnings of an explanation as the foremost minion bowed low, and Aku swiveled his gaze to focus upon the creature, “Our drones happened upon a so-called “Samurai Festival”— apparently the first of its kind— in celebration of the man who dares to defy you, oh Great One. This man is one of many who were at the festival, dressed quite like the one you seek...”

Here, the minion fiddled with its claws and looked away, “O-of course, the drones saw to the festival’s destruction, and we took as many captives as we could...We think that this one you have in your fist is their leader, or at least something close to it. He was speaking to the crowd upon a makeshift stage when we overwhelmed him...”

The underling flinched away from its master upon finishing the explanation, expecting to be killed on the spot for allowing its master to be deceived into thinking the imposter was genuine. However, this motion was lost on the great demon, for Aku was in such a state of disbelief that little more than the highlights of the summary had soaked in.

 _A sacrilegious festival, with hundreds of Samurai look-alikes?_ Aku questioned himself, hoping he hadn’t heard that right. To the dark emperor, it sounded like a tailor-made Hell the likes of which the Pit of Hate could hardly rival.

Quite suddenly, Aku could feel the man in his fist starting to struggle. With talons precise as tweezers, Aku pulled the gag roughly from the man’s mouth, not caring in the slightest if teeth were to come with it.

“What do you have to say for yourself,” Aku boomed in the man’s face with no regard to personal space or etiquette, “Surely you’re not stupid enough to stand against me, as well?”

The man cleared his throat, and spoke loudly enough that all in the room could hear him, “The Samurai will kill you one of these days, foul demon.”

Aku grinned disarmingly despite his mounting anger. “Is that so?” He asked as sweetly as his rasping voice would allow, not missing how many of the demons in the room visibly flinched away.

The man tensed in Aku’s grip. “It is so,” he asserted firmly, “The Samurai will save this world, and all within it. I just know it...”

“Mm...” Aku hummed his acknowledgment, although he very obviously disagreed, “Know this, fool, if you were any less useful, I would have already killed you for treason.” He growled, “However, there is something that I need from you, and so you will live— oh yes, the Great Aku is more merciful than you know— but know that from now on your days are _numbered_.” He hissed dangerously, some inner fire reflecting hellishly in his eyes.

And with that, the Ringleader hocked and promptly spit in Aku’s face.

“Do your worst, demon!” The man bellowed bravely, his expression livid with injustice. Aku’s minions could only stare in stunned silence at such insubordination. This mortal was _stupidly_ courageous.

With a roar of the utmost fury, Aku blindly swatted the guards like flies from the outcropping and brought his burden hurtling into the rock with a resounding squelch like that from an especially juicy insect. He pounded the offender repeatedly into the stone until nothing more was left of the man than a bloodied mess and a viscous pink substance looking deceptively close to hamburger meat that had been run through a grinder— and _still_ the demon kept going until visible cracks appeared in the rock, long after the man had suffered the first mortal blow.

Breaths heaving with the now ebbing tide of his fury, the demon came to his senses not knowing where he was. When the realization struck, he felt only disappointment as he looked upon the sad little smear where his informant had learned the hard way not to cross him. From his respective outcropping on the opposite side of its master, where it cowered with its hands over its eyes, the responsible but anonymous blue demon from before stared between its claws with wide eyes at what was left. Aku barely noticed it.

 _Shame really,_ thought the great emperor to himself as he made a show of carefully scraping the man’s remains from his palm and flicking it carelessly into the flaming oblivion below. He watched its descent for a moment, the frown never leaving his face. Ordinarily he might savor such a small but satisfying victory, but as of right now he felt nothing but disappointment. Upon learning the man’s position of importance, he had hoped to tortur— er, “interrogate”— him, draw out his usefulness until he would, of course, kill him. But there went that idea. Aku frowned deeper as another realization struck him. _Those were some of my best guards, too.._

The demon grimaced as a single snaggled claw scraped the man’s spit from his face. _Just as well that the man is dead,_ the demon decided as he gazed upon the unhealthy yellowish-green substance pooled upon the tip of his claw. _I don’t do business with animals._

 **Parting Words:** I hope y’all enjoyed this first chapter! Tips, recommendations, reviews, or other feedback in general will be greatly appreciated.  <3

 **EDIT (06/16/2016):** Ok guys, first of all I’m really super sorry that I haven’t updated this story in so long. It’s not that I’ve not wanted to.. I’ve just been super busy and distracted, what with all the stuff that’s been happening in my life lately. But like I told y’all back in early January (or whenever I last bumped this fic) I have every intention of finishing this one day, you’ve just got to bear with me. I promise I will not abandon this.

I’m currently in the process of rewriting Chapter 2 and combining it with Chapter 3, and I tentatively hope to have that posted by the end of this month. Apologies for the exhaustive wait, and I greatly appreciate those of you who have stuck around. <3

I hope to have more chapters in the works soon enough. <3

P.S. I’ve decided I’ll dedicate/gift this fic to my good friend AbbySomething whom I miss a great deal, haven’t spoken to in a while, and still somehow feel very close to. This one’s for you, kid. ;)


	2. Into the Dark Forest

**Author’s Note (07/20/2016):** Hey guys, Cobalt here at long last. If you’re only just now checking up on this fic after several months away from it, I highly recommend you reread this chapter because I’ve decided I’ll be meshing the old Chapter 2 and what I originally planned to have as Chapter 3 into one big long Chapter. So, yeah, lots of stuff is new in this version, compared to the one from January 4 th.

I hope you like where I’m going with this. ;)

~Cobalt

 **Warnings for this chapter:** Mild blasphemy and gore mention.

**This Chapter was first published October 7 th, 2015 and last updated July 20th, 2016.**

The next morning dawned with dazzling brightness and a cloudless sapphire sky. Dew glistened brilliantly upon spidery tree limbs, each cluster of droplets a unique constellation of fire. Shafts of golden-white sunlight filtered through the patchy late-fall canopy to cast irregular shadows upon the forest floor, and not far from where Jack lay sleeping, a little creature— a squirrel, perhaps— rummaged through the piles of discarded foliage which littered the forest floor. In the distance, the snow-capped peaks of nearby mountains carried their sentiments to the Heavens, each grappling with varying degrees of success to rejoin the sky.

Jack blinked awake slowly to the harsh cawing of a stray crow as it joined its southbound brethren, and he tilted his head back lazily to watch its graceless ascent as it climbed higher in the morning sky. Jack yawned, stretched, and cast his serene gaze upon his surroundings with feigned indifference. After a moment’s pause he was satisfied that he was alone, and allowed himself to relax.

 _Places this calm are hard to come by,_ he thought not without a sudden twinge of bitterness and frowned as he reclined against the tree. For the past several months, such negative thoughts had proven themselves rather persistent, and he was dismayed with the reminder that his sense of optimism had long since begun to decay. However, his newfound sense of pessimism was to be expected after such an extended length of seemingly never-ending failure. Reclining easily beneath his tree’s inconsistent shadow, Jack found himself lingering on this troubling realization perhaps longer than he had dared to in quite a long time.

It had been seven, prolonged years since he had first defied Aku’s young tyranny those many millennia ago, and much had been taken from him in that time. He had lost friends and acquaintances through the combined efforts of Aku’s forces and the Hands of Time. He had lost his family. And now, Jack could feel it, it was only a matter of time before he would begin to lose his youth. The Hell never seemed to end, yet it was a burden that he had long grown accustomed to. A rogue breeze sliced through the air like an icy projectile, bringing with it the hopeful smells and sounds of nearby civilization, and Jack hoped that the distance to his next destination would not stretch for much longer. He reached for his sandals and _katana_.

He withdrew his pitiable rations— a meager assortment of dried fruits— and frowned upon the refuse with weary distaste. He found himself briefly remembering a time that seemed so long ago when he’d last eaten a warm meal, and just as quickly dispelled the rising surge of pessimism which accompanied that train of thought. Instead, he allowed himself the luxury of a smile as he again revisited his hopes for the village. Surely there he could buy more food— maybe even something hot, like a breakfast platter?— and, better still, he might even find the priest about whom he’d heard so much and had traveled for so long to find.

And so, with goal in sight, the samurai resumed his journey with renewed vigor, the wisps of his smoky breath curling gently behind him as he picked at his breakfast.

~

Many hundreds of miles away, Aku reclined lazily in his throne, his feet propped upon a grotesque (yet functional) stool of antlers. In his claws he cradled his favorite cup, an enormous, white ceramic tankard with the phrase “World’s Best Emperor” scrawled across it in obnoxious, yet ornately-flourished and masterfully hand-painted, red block letters. Delicate tendrils of the drink’s pleasant, honey-scented steam curled up and around his horns like a crown as he brought the cup to his lips. He inhaled deeply with relish. Tea had always been one of his favorite drinks. Moreover, the writing on the cup did not lie: he _was_ the best emperor the world had ever known, _and then some_!

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he savored this day’s first private victory in what was sure to be the first in his longest streak of private victories to date. He sipped again from his tea in a smug, self-satisfied sort of way, and sighed with simple pleasure. Although he had spent much of the previous night working out the finer details for this newest scheme, he felt it was more than worth it. He was prepared for anything; he had taken all variables into account and even felt he could stand to have a late start this morning. Although arrogance and underestimation had cost him in the past, he just did not care this morning so great was his confidence in this newest plan. He had more than earned this morning’s late start after all the work he had put in last night, and so he promised himself an extra few hours to relax before he’d set the wheels of this newest scheme in motion.

The plan was so very simple; Aku was astonished at himself for not having thought of it sooner. This plan, quite like the so-called “Ikra Undertaking” as he’d come to think of it, was foolproof and deliciously treacherous. The key elements were there: the brilliant disguise, the pulling-of-wool over the Fool’s eyes, and the _coup de grâce_ victory stomp on the heart that had been plucked right from his chest. Aku smirked widely to himself at this pleasing thought. Never mind merely slowing the Samurai’s progress as Ikra had only served to do, for this newest undertaking would not only be the Samurai’s very undoing but could also very well break his spirit; and that was the only piece he was missing to secure this, his greatest triumph yet.

The plan could not, _would not_ fail. Of this, he was for once entirely certain, and this warranted only the utmost care in the plan’s execution. Nothing could go wrong, and there could be neither variables nor unforeseen complications.

But still, he was not at all worried. Ah, the wonders that a murder and a good night’s rest could do for one’s morale!

Aku sipped again from his tankard. Before him, as always, the flames parted obediently with a dismissive wave of his hand to reveal the subject of his concentrated ire, and Aku leaned forward unconsciously as though watching a particularly engaging cartoon. He sipped lazily from his tea, and his half-lidded gaze lingered upon his enemy’s image with distant amusement at the frailty of mortal life.

“How different things will seem when there is no one left to defy me...” he murmured aloud before suddenly taking another noisy slurp from his tankard as though to save face. He grimaced momentarily at the realization that he had almost expressed _regret_ , for such disgusting _human_ sentiments were quite beneath him. At once he was grateful to be alone in the throne room, lest someone had heard such an uncharacteristic sentiment. Moreover, hadn’t he just relished the thought of the samurai’s destruction? He asked himself. What place did regret have in the face of what would surely be the single, crowning triumph of his existence?

Perhaps, living among humanity for so long had made him soft. Aku shuddered at the idea and fervently hoped not.

Shaking himself from his thoughts lest he forget his brilliant plan at all, Aku leaned forward and dialed his secretary. Although he would not be leaving the citadel for several more hours, he figured he might as well take care of this call now before he left, seeing as he did not plan on returning for an indeterminate length of time.

“Yes, Hello, Ardelia..” he began carefully, his tone of voice uncharacteristically pleasant, “I need you to do something for me..”

~

Thoroughly unaware of the trials which awaited him later that day, Jack arrived at the village without any complications. Glancing around curiously as he walked, he took in the bustling people in the marketplace (some human and others not from this world) as they went about their business. Here, a family of colorful alien visitors selected loaves of bread and there, across the market, a charlatan yelled about his fraudulent “magic” talismans. The air was abuzz with talks of business. As politely as he could, the samurai threaded his way through the surging crowd, stopping once or twice to purchase nonperishable foods that he could bring with him on his journey.

Withdrawing a folded piece of parchment from the folds of his _gi_ , he looked over the hastily scribbled directions he had received only a few days prior, and frowned. Looking up again, Jack carefully surveyed his surroundings and was surprised to see that the building he had been looking for was waiting expectantly right across the street. How had he not noticed it?

The building in itself didn’t look overly conspicuous as churches go, he observed as he approached. Sure, it was dilapidated and appeared quite neglected and unused, but don’t most churches look that way in this day and age? He quickly dispelled such thoughts as he drew closer, for he could tell there was much more than extreme dilapidation that set this church apart from others. There was something very wrong with the whole establishment, and Jack could feel the hairs on the back of his neck bristling instinctively as he stepped up to the entrance.

Jack looked over his shoulder, somehow feeling the slightest bit self-conscious as he stood before the worm-eaten oak doors of the church. He nudged the door gently, and the door creaked open weakly to admit him as though he had been expected. He removed his hat and held it under his arm before taking a few tentative steps inside, the chill crawling up his spine not entirely due to the late fall breeze which had sliced its way through the ruins.

His eyes widened considerably as he took in the desolation which had awaited him. To begin with, the pews were in varying states of disarray; some were as defaced as the outside walls of the church, literally covered with graffiti, while others were in complete shambles, their pieces strewn about the floor haphazardly like jigsaw puzzles that had been dumped out of their boxes. The tapestries and rugs throughout the room were all threadbare from years of neglect and, more recently, the repeated visits of moths. The walls and floor were covered with grime, and dust lay thick and undisturbed upon almost every surface.

Although it was mid-morning, the inside of the church was dim, and the little light afforded by the holes in the roof and walls could hardly illuminate the greater extent of the wreckage. Of course, that was just fine with Jack, who didn’t want to witness any more of it than he had to.

“Hello..” Jack breathed into the silence, the sound coming out as little more than a whisper. A noise of rustling fabric drew the samurai’s attention to the shadows at his right, and he looked up sharply at the robed man who approached. The priest was gaunt, exceptionally pale, and had wispy grey-blonde hair that appeared highly unusual, perhaps almost spectral, for one who was surely not much older than 40. As the man stepped closer, and the lines of hypocrisy on his face were etched deeply in shadow, Jack suspected strongly that he was part of the reason the church had declined in the first place.

Standing before Jack now, the priest looked up at him with distrust in his eyes. “Yes?” He asked softly, his voice rasping from disuse and- like so much else about him- quite uncharacteristic for one of his profession.

“I’m looking for Father Madison,” Jack answered politely, suddenly ill at ease in his presence although he daren’t show it, “is he here?”

“Oh, you’re one of _his_ ,” the man sneered, every bit of his largely insubstantial façade of politeness crumbling away, much to Jack’s surprise. “He moved his practice to the dark wood east of the village,” here the priest hesitated, but continued after a moment’s pause. “If you follow the path running through town, it will take you where you need to go,” he offered.

Further conversation from the priest trailed away as some glimmer of recognition began to register itself, and he narrowed his eyes at the traveler. For some reason, the priest couldn’t help but feel he had seen this man somewhere else before. He turned away from the samurai, effectively (and rudely) putting an end to their conversation; walked back to the pew, and sat. There, he was immediately lost in thought— racking his brain for something that just would not come, no matter how it had been coaxed.

A faded wanted poster upon the wall billowed in the wind but the priest did not look up. He was vaguely aware of the samurai excusing himself, but did not think to stop him.

Jack left the little church feeling almost as though he had just stepped out of Hell and back into the light of day. He had no doubt that something momentous had happened within its pitiful walls— something big enough that the former Father should have to move out of town, afterward— and he felt sorry that the little church had been left in the care of such a heinous replacement, whose horrible claws surely bumbled through the lines of the ancient texts with an obvious distaste and lack of conviction.

He continued on his way down the street, his head bowed and face hidden once again beneath his hat.

~

Deep within the forbidden darkness of the Black Forest, standing tall and proud above its peers like a fortress, there was a tree quite unlike any other. Towering into the sky, reaching so high it effortlessly crests the first layer of cloud cover on an overcast day, so high its impressive, unmistakable mass of foliage could be seen without binoculars when one was well away from the forest, the “Tree of the Clearing” (as it has come to be known by longtime residents of the village) was truly an unsettling sight to behold amidst the wreckage of what was once a place so full of life.

Or, at least, that’s what most people seemed to think of it. But, for one demon, the place was as close to home as he’d ever get.

Within the Tree the lone resident of the Black Forest stood in his bedroom and looked out his favorite window, whose position numerous stories above the Forest’s floor afforded quite the expansive, if not rather depressing, view. His inhuman yellow eyes quietly surveyed the bleak decimation which radiated outward from the great Tree’s clearing for miles in every direction and contemplated the wreckage with less detachment than he would have liked. Every time his eyes sought the charred husks of the former trees— which would have rotted long ago had he not magically preserved them in an effort to forewarn travelers of his powers and ill repute— he felt bitter and angry at himself all over again.

There was a time that the forest had meant sanctuary. It had been green, vibrant, and full of life. There had been wildflowers like bright splashes of paint and berry bushes so loaded with fruit that were having trouble holding their branches off the ground; there had even been wildlife, which was more than could be said for the Forest at present. Everything had been just fine as it was, for a time. The place had been perfectly ordinary as forests go, for even the Tree of the Clearing (although it had still been rather large compared to its peers) had not yet been touched by the dark magic which had augmented its monstrous proportions.

Of course, this was many years ago, when the Forest had been called Wildcat Thicket, after the dense population of bobcats and mountain lions which had long ago frequented the area, and Leonard Madison had still been a village variety pastor, not yet capable of dark magic.

The demon’s train of thought was broken as he realized he could see his reflection, and he found himself glaring at it with more than a fair degree of hatred.

 _Just look at yourself_ , he sneered hatefully at it, his eyes tracing the monstrous tusks which jutted like spears from the beast’s upper lip. His deep red skin reflected pink light onto his shirt. _Look at what your failure cost you, you bastard._ He glowered at this image for a moment longer, fixing himself stubbornly on the shreds of old indignity which had followed him from his past life, before he exhaled softly, his breath misting the cold glass as he habitually rested his forehead against it in one of his many well-practiced gestures of defeat. His eyes darted reflexively to his right after this and found the picture frame on his nightstand out of habit. His daughter, then a young girl wearing a flowery sundress and a straw hat, smiled at him out of the sunny little photograph.

He closed his eyes and found himself wondering, distantly, just how it had all come to this.

Every morning it was the same old thing. He would rise from bed, stare longingly at the death outside his window, and hate himself viciously all over again. It never really seemed to change. Except.. today, something seemed different, and he couldn’t quite put his claw on it. Perhaps it was just an intuition, but today he felt certain that something to break the monotony was going to happen…

Or maybe not. He was just basing this assumption off gut feelings, and lately it seemed those were about as reliable as reading tea leaves.

~

Less than thirty minutes had passed before the first of the lifeless trees extended their gnarled branches towards Jack in welcome, and still the samurai remained uneasy from his encounter with the priest as he stepped into the desolate hush of the black forest; never mind this new circumstance with which he had to contend. Around him, hundreds of obliterated trees stood decaying, their trunks fire-blackened and wind-ravaged. Their husks whispered ominously amongst themselves in the wind as Jack passed them by, as though yearning to retell the tale of their demise. The samurai rested one hand tensely upon the handle of his _katana_ as he attempted to negotiate the unfamiliar path which twisted its way through the heart of the forest.

As he walked, Jack looked upon the scorched trees with interest. Some were burned far worse than others, but all of the trees appeared to be long dead, regardless, as though evil had remotely tainted the very livelihood of the forest long before the fire. The air thrummed more and more palpably with magic the deeper he trekked into the wood, and Jack followed it as one would follow a string tied at the entrance of a labyrinth. He knew that what lay at the end of this link could not be from this world.

The palpable thrum of black magic that Jack had first experienced at the edge of the forest had gradually increased in potency to the point of becoming almost unbearable the deeper he ventured into the woods. This uncomfortable sensation had become so very insistent that several minutes after he had begun the journey into the woods, as Jack found himself at the edge of a sizeable clearing, and before him— towering proudly into the late afternoon sky like a fortress—stood the largest tree that Jack had ever seen, he felt mildly nauseated. The many scorch marks around the base suggested that it too had fallen victim to the blaze that claimed its peers; but, as a whole, the tree appeared to be healthy and quite alive. Its emerald leaves crested the sky as though defying the laws of nature, and the whole thing just looked _unnatural_ ; never mind the windows and doors that appeared to have grown into the tree on their own.

As he looked, the tree as a whole appeared to waver gently in the mid-afternoon light, and Jack had to squint to bring it into focus. The sinister tide of black magic which coursed its way through the forest seemed intent on permeating the tree’s enchanted bark, as though a great secret resided just beneath, but its every effort was violently rejected and waves of this thwarted energy seemed to emanate from the tree in all directions. Looking up at this strange spectacle now, Jack found the whole display something beyond dizzying to look at and he pondered briefly over the few immediate, if unlikely reasons that might have prompted the strange man who lived there to willingly subject himself to such an uncomfortably intense atmosphere for only a moment, let alone venture to live in it for any length of time.

He approached the massive tree cautiously, his hand on the handle of the sword all the while. As he approached the ancient wooden door, Jack noticed there were no tool marks that he could see in the intricate carvings which adorned it, nor were there the signs of weathering that otherwise would have been characteristic of wood that had been left outside. With a deep breath to steel himself, he knocked, and the door reverberated magically with the force as though it did not take kindly to strangers. Jack wondered what kind of enchantments had been placed upon it as the faint sounds of movement coming from just within gave away his host. A few moments passed before the door was opened, and Jack tried not to betray his obvious surprise at what awaited him on the other side.

In the doorway there now stood a creature whose origin Jack could not identify, its back straight as a ramrod with an air of respectability and hospitality about its person. The creature was heavy-set, with orange-red skin and a pig’s face. Impressive grey-black horns jutted from the back of its head from beneath a graying (and outdated) hairstyle. It wore a starched white button-up shirt, and dark brown khakis. Hooves peeked out from beneath its pant legs. “May I help you?” The creature asked politely, its voice pleasantly deep and rumbling forth.

“I apologize for bothering you, but I am looking for Father Madison,” Jack answered.

The creature smiled, exposing prominent tusks in its mouth, “You’re talkin’ to him! But please, go easy on that ‘Father’ stuff, and just call me Leonard, if that’s not too much trouble. I don’t identify with the church anymore.”

There was a pause as the demon crossed his arms across his sizeable chest and gut, and Jack was struck with the altogether alien sensation of being the one to judge. The way the demon had averted his eyes, the way his sentence had trailed off to uneasy silence, it had almost seemed to Jack as though there was much that had remained unsaid. The gesture’s likeness to regret was openly human.

Were demons even capable of such emotion? Looking at his host now, whose lines in his face were etched deep, Jack did not doubt it.

Leonard was quick to break the silence. “So what is it you’re after, stranger?” There was subtle emphasis on the word stranger, and Jack shook himself back to the present with the realization that he had been rude.

“Forgive me, I neglected to properly introduce myself,” the samurai apologized, “I am called ‘Jack’, and I have traveled here from a faraway land in the hopes that I could speak with you. I was told you could help me in my quest.”

When the demon fell silent once again, Jack found himself strangely appreciative. Not for the first time in recent weeks Jack somehow felt that, by standing in the presence of such critical judgement and remaining unflinching in the face of its intensity, he was undergoing a test in its own right. In a world as swamped with corruption as this future, it was almost reassuring to see that there were those who did not believe the tales of strangers quite so easily.

“Now, listen,” the demon spoke finally, after his moment of consideration, “I don’t usually like helping every random stranger that shows up at my door, uh, for reasons I’m sure you can gather,“ He gestured pointedly at the scorch marks with one grizzled thumbnail, “but maybe you could tell me your story, and I’ll feel more inclined to help you. I will admit, I _have_ heard some things about you, Jack, but quite frankly I just don’t know what to believe anymore.” He shook his head mournfully for emphasis.

Jack was not surprised. “Of course. I understand that certain details may be mistaken or difficult to believe. I would be glad to clarify—”

“Well good, because I have many questions that need your answering,” the demon interrupted without missing a beat, slung an arm around the samurai’s shoulders, and ushered him into the foreboding darkness which yawned behind him before he could protest.

 **Parting Words (06/21/2016):** Fun fact, y’all, “Wildcat Thicket” is an actual place! I went on this name generator thing and it gave me a list of 50 real life forests that I could take inspiration/names from, and one of them was Wildcat Thicket. So I put it in Google search, and apparently Wildcat Thicket borders a town in Texas called “Leonard”! So naturally, after learning about that, I just _had_ to use the name. ;) It was an intervention of fate.

Leonard will be making regular appearances as we go, btw. c: He is not going to be a side character, and later on y’all will learn why he became a demon, what happened to the forest he lives in, who his daughter is and bits of her story, and so on. He only seems flat right now because I didn’t want to go into a lot of detail with him right off the bat. We’re just about to start the main action of the story. B)

Also, I don’t really like how this chapter came out so I might well end up rewriting it in the near future. But for now I’m going to push onward and work on Chapter 3, because I’ve been procrastinating and _procrastinating_ for months now.

Questions, Comments, Ideas, or Concerns about the story? Let me know in the comments! :3

 **EDIT (07/20/2016):** I think I finally figured out what I dislike about this chapter. As of right now I fixed the problem, but chances are I’ll end up rewriting this again later (or at least tweaking some stuff) as I’m prone to doing.


	3. The Demons that Bind

**Author’s Note (07/30/2016):** If you want some extra Yin Yang Effect stuff to keep you held over between my updates, I highly suggest you jump on over to my art blog, cobalt-draws on Tumblr. I draw Jaku stuff from time to time and even post bits of the story as I’m working on it! You’ll find something there that you’ll appreciate, I hope.

Also here’s a ref for Leonard: https://cobalt-draws.tumblr.com/post/148109074234/leonard-madison-the-pastor-turned-demon-from-my

That said, let’s get on with Chapter 3!

**Warnings for this chapter:** Rape mention and general violence mention.

**EDIT (** **12/21/16** **):** I couldn’t stand to look at this chapter anymore. After having reread it recently, I remembered that it was absolutely wretched and I made an attempt at fixing it. Hopefully some issues with the flow and pacing have been corrected with this update. Of course, this chapter is still not perfect and may still need to be reviewed further in the future, but for now this will be plenty good enough. There’s a lot of new stuff in here, but hopefully it’s not so different that I will have to update previous chapters to accommodate my changes.

Also I’ve decided to leave off on describing Aku’s disguise until the next chapter. So if you remember my previous description of his disguise before this update, please forget it. xD

Chapter 4 is coming soon, y’all! Thanks so much for your continued patience. <3

~Cobalt

**This Chapter was first published July 30 th, 2016 and last updated ** **December 21 st, 2016** **.**

As Leonard ushered him into the tree, Jack found himself thrust into an impossibly cavernous entry hallway so large that a small elephant could easily have fit in the hall with them—that is, if the hall hadn’t been so crowded with books and other assorted magical items. A fire’s soothing orange glow flickered at the end of the hall, and the shadows of Leonard’s expertly-mounted taxidermy pranced in the wake of its light as though alive. Their glass eyes and bleached ivory looked almost _too_ lifelike in this light, and it seemed to Jack that as he looked to them, they were studying him in their own turn. But, after a breath, the samurai stepped forward into the hall of dancing shadows without fear— and was cloaked in a murky semi-darkness as the door was shut behind him.

The very moment he set foot in the demon’s home, the once-spirited air suddenly quieted and stilled itself as though tamed by his very presence. Despite the welcoming heat, goosebumps crawled their way along his arms at the abrupt shift in atmosphere, as the air outside had practically vibrated with magical tension in contrast to the unlikely stillness that somehow existed within the tree.

Leonard brushed past him at that moment, apparently indifferent to Jack’s veiled discomfort, and began the precarious journey to the next room without a second look in the samurai’s direction.

“This way, then,”  Leonard said good-naturedly, and beckoned for Jack to follow him as he stepped over the first of the many obstacles in the hall with deliberate grace.

With his host’s back to him, Jack allowed himself to take in his surroundings. At regular intervals in the hall, there were stacks of books and papers piled up to chest height, arranged so precariously that the slightest brush might send them toppling to the floor like dominoes.  Jack stepped gingerly around the teetering pillars, and more than once did he have to step over equally bothersome piles no taller than his shin, which squatted in this semi-darkness like assassins, just waiting for one misstep.

Although bookcases had been spelled into the walls in an effort to save space, some were so crammed with magical objects that they were at risk of overflowing. More than once, as he was led deeper into the tree, did Jack have to dodge things that protruded from the shelves, or step around small piles of things that had long since spilled onto the floor.

As Jack picked his way through the hall, he was surprised to see how easily his host negotiated the turmoil. Despite his wings, which surely made for an obstacle all their own, the demon made his way through without disturbing so much as a single page of parchment. In fact, Jack was astonished to see a wing reach out, and adjust one of the particularly troubling stacks without the demon even stopping.

Besides the books and parchment, Jack could pick out a few other choice things from the clutter. He spied a collection of suspiciously glittering jewelry in a chained display box, whose links had been tacked to the wall at all corners with nails that looked decidedly too large. The jewelry captured the light with a queer deliberateness, almost as if the firelight was drawn to the depths of the gems’ intense color, and Jack kept as much distance as was physically possible between himself and the display. He had neither trust nor desire for such trifling brilliance.

In still another place, he could pick out what appeared to be a fractured bit of eggshell with a strange scale-like texture. Dry and brittle, yet still bright with color, it could not have been older than a few months. Something about it seemed so very different from all the rest of Leonard’s clutter, and Jack would have paused by it and examined it closer were he not here for a purpose. Besides, the entrance hallway as a whole was shot through with gentle whispers of damnation that had him on edge; so he was eager to keep moving.

It did not help matters that Jack could make out a number of other obviously supernatural objects from where he stood (the likes of which he had heard much about, but had never dared to believe in). He eyed these things warily as he passed, for the mere sight of these artifacts broached subjects that mortal man dare not attempt to comprehend.

As they waded deeper into the hall, it became obvious to Jack that Leonard shared none of his discomfort; for the explanations Leonard offered on this or that as they passed certain objects of interest poured forth unhurried as though the former priest were talking with a friend rather than a stranger whom he had only just met. Jack would have found his company enjoyable, were he not surrounded by such forbidden and somewhat ominous feats of sorcery, and so he paused only as long as was necessary behind Leonard when the demon would launch into another of his roundabout stories. It soon occurred to Jack that this could be the demon’s way of proving his magical competence.

Jack considered what he already knew about his host’s character. For one thing, not many years ago he had been a priest (according to the witchdoctor who had graciously provided Jack with the demon’s last known location); and there was even talk that Leonard had made the transition from human to demon out of mere necessity. Of course there _was also_ the faintest suggestion of regret that Jack had noticed in their introduction, and aside from that Leonard seemed relatively personable, accommodating, courteous… But, Jack questioned, would these things be enough for the demon to do what was right?

Jack frowned. He didn’t think he should hold his breath. Leonard _was_ a demon after all, and as far as his understanding of demons went, their own self-importance came before all else.

At least he could take solace in the fact that Leonard appeared to have a great depth of knowledge on magic and magical artifacts, and seemed willing enough to hear him out. With the demon’s guidance, perhaps he might finally determine a new destination? The thought brought Jack some slim hope that made enduring this uncomfortable supernatural clutter more than worthwhile.

Jack breathed in deep to dispel these troubling thoughts, and at once the lines in his frown seemed to soften. There _was_ at least one other good thing to say about the demon’s home. A previously undetectable smell of cooking meat and its indistinct bouquet of spices wafted to him from the opposite end of the hall, and Jack crossed his arms over his midsection in the hopes that Leonard wouldn’t hear the grumbling of his stomach. He couldn’t recall the last time he had eaten anything as significant, but it was quite enough that he had been welcomed into a stranger’s home without also imposing onto his dinner. Despite this thought however, his mouth watered mutinously just the same.

Here, at the entrance for the next room, the dim orange glow of the fire had intensified almost to the quality and brightness of the daylight from early morning, with all of the heat that the outside world had been lacking. And now, the smell of cooking meat had all but wiped Jack’s mind clear of all other thoughts. The savory, rich smell that had greeted him at the door had concentrated at the end of the hall so thickly that it could almost be cut with a knife, and Jack’s stomach grumbled loudly before he could suppress it.

“The meat’s not quite done yet,” Leonard said pointedly, but not rudely, with his back turned to him, “It’s got a few hours or so left to cook. That should be plenty of time for you to tell me your story, shouldn’t it?” Leonard asked good-naturedly, stopping now and turning to face him. “And afterward I’d be honored if you might consider joining me for dinner.” He smiled, and his tusks glistened creamy-white in the firelight.

“Thank you, but I couldn’t trouble you any more than I have already,” Jack attempted to reason, but as before, his stomach begged to differ.

“What nonsense!” Leonard exclaimed with a rough bark of good-natured laughter, “I haven’t had company in such a long time. You’re really no trouble at all!” The demon clapped a hand on his shoulder and ushered him into the living room, brooking no room for further argument.

**~**

Meanwhile in Aku’s citadel, the Emperor stood before his ancient, floor-length bedroom mirror hardly recognizing himself. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, then stretched an arm behind his neck and adjusted the hood of his cape which rested unused between his shoulder blades. Although he looked like something from a dream, he definitely was not seeing things, and doubtless he had outdone himself with this one.

Looking at himself, Aku couldn’t help but let slip a genuine smile. Although he supposed he should feel excited for the delicious treachery to come, he was proud and more than a bit surprised to find that instead he felt well in-hand this time around.

So many times before, he had let himself take chances, had even let himself succumb to his own emotions, and had suffered the consequences of defeat. But, as the saying goes, that was then and this was now. This day, his emotions and impulses were in control... For the most part, anyway. When he had allowed himself his little slip earlier that morning with the decision to delay the advance, it had echoed memories of previous such situations so much so that he had not even gotten through the first hour without giving in to better judgment. And so, he was of the opinion that those few minutes should hardly count.

Even still, he tightened his jaw in determination as he smoothed the folds out of his vest with deliberate sureness. He looked up from his work and scowled faintly, baring tusks at his own reflection. _Damned if I, the Ruler to End All Rulers, should fall as a result a foolish risk that I needn’t have taken.._

But, perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. It had only been a small risk, after all. It’s not like he had already removed the Samurai from the Most Wanted lists, as if he had already been detained or destroyed; nor had he constructed a display case in his private sanctuary where he would place the Samurai’s head when this ordeal was at its end. No he hadn’t done anything like that, and although the delay had been foolish, at least it had been minor enough. Surely, Aku reasoned, it wasn’t enough to cost him this key first step in his newest plan. Satisfied, he pushed these thoughts aside.

He cocked his head towards the mirror and rocked back on his heels as he critically regarded his reflection for what had to be the hundredth time that hour. Once again he inspected his reflection for flaws, and was satisfied to find that of course there were none. Say what one might of his mistakes earlier that day, at least he had been uncompromising in his choice of detail in this, his newest fraud.

He had been especially careful with this newest disguise. Not only had he overcome the problem of his stubborn color palette (which had given him away so many times before), but he had also found a way to preserve his appearance when reflected in mirrors and in water.

His body was lithe with an animal’s grace. He easily towered over most other men. In the same way water might conform to its container, so too had Aku’s magic hemmed itself within the shell of this newest human form. In the young sleepless hours of that morning, he had practiced at replicating human mannerisms like a machine and; through his efforts at walking, running, dancing, and honing his particular brand of swordplay; he had almost perfectly replicated the liquidity that had been characteristic of his demon form.

No longer could he be called ungainly, and no longer were the limitations of a human’s range of motion considered his undoing. His every move suggested the sureness one might witness in the panther which crossed like smoke from branch to branch, its journey in the trees unheard until it was far too late.

There was no way the samurai could possibly know his true identity when they should finally come face to face.

He struck a heroic pose, and drew forth the ragged black cutlass that was this form’s weapon of choice. The blade’s viciously serrated, and purposefully dull edge cast the light aside in a deadly arc of simulated steel as Aku tilted it this way and that, angling the reflected light in unfriendly patterns along the floor and then along the walls as he admired his own craftsmanship.

He smiled with satisfaction as he angled the face of the blade towards his person, and the him reflected on its surface smiled back. It wasn’t a kind smile. The reflection bared teeth suitable for tearing through flesh.

Not for the first time was Aku entirely confident in his upcoming success.

With his cloak billowing like a storm behind him, he strode from the room with great purpose, sword in hand. Plans aside, he had certain special guests that were anticipating his council, and he had kept them waiting for far too long already.

Thinking about the festival-going, empire-defying ingrates chained to the walls of his dungeons, and the screams to be ripped from their throats before the hour’s end, Aku’s high spirits reached a level they had not known in many moons.

His laughter echoed like that of a madman in the room he left behind.

~

Jack inhaled sharply at the sight that awaited him as he and Leonard entered the living room.

Although the room was spacious, no doubt it was the largest in the house, the sense of crowding and disorganization that Jack had experienced in the hallway was incomparable to the disaster that was the demon’s living room. Shelves were magicked into the walls here, just as they had been in the hallway, and as before they were all consistently overflowing and in a state of chaos. Neither the floor nor even the walls could escape the tide of Leonard’s magical disarray. Even the furniture was buried under its own layer of clutter.

“Pardon the mess,” the demon said apologetically, “I wasn’t expecting company this month, otherwise I might have done something with.. this...” he gestured broadly to the room, before making his way to his chair and flopping down into its well-worn comfort with a sigh of content. The chair was situated just so in the room that it might simultaneously face the fireplace, the coffee table, a neighboring lesser-used arm chair, and a nearby window all at once. Situated as it was, one could simultaneously see all corners of the room, except for those directly behind, and Leonard watched him from it with a dignified curiosity as though he were a researcher taking notes.

Beside Leonard, angled in such a way that it might face the fireplace while at the same time facing the demon’s chair and the coffee table situated between, there was a modest armchair of oiled grey leather. In it, a small scaly-looking creature about as big as a cat (colored suspiciously quite like a broken eggshell Jack had noticed in the hall), with hooves, fetlocks, overly-large ears, and a small antler in the middle of its forehead, lay coiled and sleeping soundly, profoundly unaware of Jack’s presence or perhaps even indifferent to it. Jack found himself momentarily in awe. Kirin were the stuff of legends, revered for their benevolence and purity, and thus to see one in a place so full of evil… Jack did not know what to think. After a moment’s consideration longer, in which Leonard continued to watch him without a word from his chair, the samurai moved on.

In the center of the room, a fire pit had been hollowed out of the floor. Over it, a roasting spit, on which was skewered a particularly succulent cut of pork, was rotating languidly of its own accord. The hot juices which oozed in rivulets of moisture from the meat, _popped_ , _sizzled_ , and _crackled_ when they fell into the flame below. Beside the spit, a cauldron of stew was cooking over a smaller flame all to its own. The smell of spice and roasting meat in the room was undeniably strong and difficult to ignore. Jack breathed in deeply and could feel his mouth watering.

But, as he looked to the pit, he realized this fire was not the major source of heat and light in the room. There was something _else_ , something burning hotter and brighter than any ordinary fire Jack had ever known, and it was behind him. He turned to look.

For the first time, Jack noticed the impressive fireplace which had been hollowed out of the living room’s circumference. The fire in its black iron grate burned slowly, dancing with itself not at all unlike the strange shadows in the entrance hall. It seemed to Jack that it angled its blistering focus towards him when he turned to face it, and individual tendrils of this intense orange flame even went so far as to reach out at him through the bars only to pass back away from them with a strange ghostly reluctance. The fire gave off no smoke, nor seemed to be burning any fuel that Jack could see. Its heat was sweltering, far hotter than any ordinary flame. Even from where he was standing, well away from the fireplace, Jack could feel himself breaking into a sweat.

“Hellfire,” Leonard explained needlessly, indicating the tendrils of flame which coiled smoothly in and around one another to a life and mind of their own. “It’s the only kind of flame I’ve found that won’t go out unless it’s doused—even if it has no fuel to burn. You mustn’t get too close to it, though. It has this bad tendency to leap out at newcomers whose sin it’s not familiar with.” At this, the demon favored him a certain sideways glance that made Jack bristle faintly with indignity.

Leonard looked expectantly up at him from his seat. “Anyhow, if you’re done looking around, you’re welcome to take a seat.” He rested his hands on the arm rests of his chair as he continued, “But, if there’s something you’d like to take a closer look at before we begin, you are more than welcome.”

Jack almost did not hear him. He stood rooted to his place staring at something he had spotted from across the room. Even from where he stood, the thing was _immense_. It appeared to be some kind of collage. Newspaper clippings, Post-Its, photographs, and string sprawled across an impressive map of the world which by itself easily spanned a third of the room’s impossible circumference.

“Well,” the samurai admitted, “there _is_ one thing I would like to see closer...” Leonard followed his gaze and smiled in a mildly pleased sort of way before dipping his head in consent. At once thankful, but at the same time questioning himself, Jack began wading through the turmoil which littered the floor, his eyes on the sprawling legacy which beckoned to him from across the room all the while.

He could feel Leonard’s eyes burning into his back as he approached it. This close, Jack had to tilt his head back to take in the full scale of it. In gigantic old-English calligraphy across the top, so high off the ground it almost disappeared in the darkness of the ceiling, there scrawled the title “Journey of the Sorcerer and Samurai” in a deep black ink. Jack almost did not realize he was holding his breath.

“I see you’ve found my map,” came Leonard’s voice from just behind him, and Jack was startled that he had not heard his approach. He could almost _hear_ the modest shrug in Leonard’s voice as he continued, “You might say I have been following your story with keen interest, Jack. It really is quite inspiring, the way you stand up for what’s right. The way you defy that _monster_..” He stepped up beside him, arms crossed behind his back, with his hands resting on his elbows. He surveyed his work proudly, and in that moment Jack was struck with just how little he truly knew of him. Suddenly, he realized why Leonard had spoken to him as though to a friend. He looked back to the map.

Post-It notes, handwritten in a careful script, were pasted at regular intervals to the face of the combination map and corkboard. The first web of yarn, blue in color, connected points of interest on the map where newspaper articles in various languages detailed the very journey which had led Jack to this unlikely forest. He stepped closer.

The first clipping he inspected turned out to be an article on the liberation of the dogs. Beside it, there was a color photograph of the three, Angus McDuffy, Drifus Alexander, and Cornwall Bartholomew Rothschild III, with what looked to be a handwritten accounting of an interview. Jack couldn’t help but smile at the sight. The date on the picture was fairly recent, within a year or so of the present, and it warmed his heart to know they were well. And there were others besides. Next to this, he spied another which had been written over the Woolies and by that one there was one for the Scotsman. On and on the articles went. There were testimonies on Jack’s bravery, his selfless acts of sacrifice, and even a few accountings of the various uprisings that were inspired by his actions. Seeing this now, Jack felt almost staggered with the sheer quantity of them and the scale that his influence seemed to reach. Although he knew he was a beacon of hope for this troubled future, he had never before grasped just how far his influence seemed to reach.

Jack allowed his eye to wander to the second trail of yarn, this one in red. He frowned in dismay. This map detailed a journey whose sort he wished he had not seen. Atrocities, the likes of which were barbaric in ways previously unconceived, scrawled along the map in a wave of unthinking carnage. Genocide, mass suicides, unchecked bursts of crime, and all of it just under Aku’s nose. Senseless beatings. Rapings. Murders. Organized crime. The text on many of the articles suggested that the demon’s so-called mercenaries, assorted cohorts, and self-described followers were to blame. Beneath certain articles, there were even mentions of prosecution efforts to varying degrees of success. If Jack had not already known some of these horrors firsthand, he was certain he would be stunned motionless.

Still other markers, these wreathed in private clouds of Post-Its and connected by a trail of black, were more directly related to the Emperor and far less vague. “Aku Levels Village in His Search for the Samurai!” yelled one headline, at the same time “Aku’s Beetle Drones Destroy Wildlife Preserve” was shouted by another. Jack felt himself filled simultaneously with cold disgust and hot vengeance.

Without thinking, Jack stretched an arm up and indicated the articles. “I recognize that village. If the date is correct, I had only just left the village the previous day before Aku showed up to ravage it..” He thought about the villagers now, cold in their graves. _They offered me a free meal and a warm, dry place to stay the night. Many of them confided in me their support, that they believed me in the right, and how did I repay them? I left them undefended to suffer Aku’s blind vengeance._ The knowledge brought back the familiar feeling of grief and regret that he had experienced before, in other such situations, when he had not been there to stop the evil before it was too late.

He almost could not bear to look at the accompanying photograph. It was an unkind piece, stark in its reality, all smoldering wreckage and bleak wasteland. A child stood before a burning field of corn, clutching a doll to her chest. Behind her, the charred wreckage of a cottage smoldered miserably in the failing light of early evening. Jack looked for a moment longer before he tore his eyes away.

“And this,” he continued with an effort as he tapped the edge of the Wildlife Preserve article, “I cut through this forest on my way to the Temple of Bishamon...”

And so it went. Leonard was silent as Jack walked from one edge of the map to another, and indicated this article or that one, telling bits of the story as he had experienced it. Others, he would simply pause before them, look once, and turn from them with eyes downcast. He walked from one end of the map to the other on his journey, embellishing on certain articles and simply confirming the validity of others.

When finally he could read no more, Jack stopped at the far end of the map. A little over two hours had passed. At some point during the reading, an egg timer had gone off, but neither Jack nor Leonard made a move to attend it.

He spoke with his back to Leonard. “Why...?” the question came out as barely a breath, hushed by the weight of so many memories and wrongs to be corrected.

“Because,” the demon hummed quietly, his voice seeming so far away, “Aku… is the one who conned me out of my soul. If anyone could stop him from destroying the lives of other innocent people as desperate as I once was, I knew it would be you.

“And besides,” He continued with emphasis, “I know what it’s like to be shunned for doing the right thing.”

Jack turned to face him, “You have known this entire time.” It was not a question.

“Yes, I have known. But, before I offer to help, I think we have something else to attend,” He smiled easily and stepped towards the fire pit and the bubbling cauldron of stew, leaving the samurai to his thoughts.

~

The spread was modest, but Leonard was rather proud of himself for putting forth his best effort on short notice. Before himself and his guest, he had laid out a fairly respectable meal... And well, perhaps it wasn’t the grandest he could have mustered, but Jack was eyeing it like a man saved in spite of all its simplicity and Leonard could not have asked for a higher compliment.

The cauldron of stew that he brought away from its fire was bedecked with bright lumps of carrot, sweet orange gems standing brightly to attention, amongst the more modest likes of potatoes, tomatoes, peas, ground beef and macaroni noodles. There was bread, homemade only hours prior, whose crust was not yet hard. And then, there was the hunk of pork at the center of it all, still steaming hot from the spit and swimming in its own juices as it flaked to pieces on its platter. For himself and his guest to drink, there was a choice of water, green tea, or black tea.

Again it was not too broad of a selection, but it was more than good enough he supposed. Better this than what he had had the other night, he reasoned. He shuddered just to think about what an awkward ordeal _that_ would have been. Yesterday’s dinner had been leftover beef and mushroom stroganoff from three nights ago. There was no way he would _ever_ consider serving _leftovers_ to a guest of the samurai’s caliber, so it was just as well that he had scraped the refuse into the fireplace when it was all over and done with.

On the floor beside his chair, Leonard took care to place a bowl of fresh salad greens and some water for his Kirin. As soon as the bowl touched the floor, the creature’s ear twitched delicately and it lifted its head from its chair to inspect today’s fare. Seemingly satisfied, the creature leapt down from its chair in one smooth motion, landed weightlessly as fresh snow, and made its way to the dish. Standing respectfully off to the side, Jack watched the creature with his arms crossed in his sleeves. His eyes followed its every movement with reverence and something close to awe.

But Leonard paid little attention to these things, for his mind was elsewhere as he set the living room table. He was silent with thought as he worked, and was especially aware that the samurai might have questions after what he had revealed. _Aku… is the one who conned me out of my soul_ , his thoughts echoed mockingly. Damn it, _why_ had he felt the need to say that? Perhaps it had served as justification for his intense interest in the samurai’s quest, perhaps it had served to give the samurai reassurance that they were on the same side, but… He resisted the urge to sigh. It had been a grand mistake; for the questions about what he had meant were not things he relished thinking about.

But then again, Jack might not feel the need to ask, especially given how polite and unassuming the samurai had thus far proven himself to be, and this thought alone brought Leonard some slim hope.

When finally he was done arranging the plates and cutlery, he allowed himself to take his seat. Leonard gestured loosely to the chair his Kirin had evacuated and Jack, polite as ever, took it with much grace.

And then, after the customary “Help yourself, there’s plenty to be had,” Leonard eagerly embraced the blessed silence which came after. He savored it much as he savored the pork, chewed it slowly and with relish, for the uncomfortable prospect of reliving his own past sat before him like a vial of bitter medicine. Perhaps thinking on it would help the healing, but that did not make enduring its bitterness any more pleasant.

At some point well into their meal he must have stopped eating, so deep in thought was he, for the samurai’s voice jarred him back to the present.

“Are you alright?” the samurai asked gently from his place across the table, and Leonard willed his sour, thoughtful expression to soften as he looked up. “Forgive me for saying so, but I noticed you have been rather silent since I finished looking at your map. Have I offended you in some way?”

Leonard favored him a measured look. The samurai was every bit as polite and respectful as the tales had claimed. Despite his prolonged time in the future, he had remained true to the humility and teachings of his previous masters, which was more than Leonard could say of himself. Looking at the samurai now as the silence stretched thin, Leonard could see much of his old self—the He that had once been pure, the He that had once embraced the teachings of one greater than himself. But, these were broodings for another time.

“Nonsense,” Leonard dismissed him, “I was just thinking about what to do next.” He lied easily, and grew serious to capitalize on this falsehood.

“However truthful as you may seem, I have a few tests before I believe you absolutely genuine. Pass them, and I will be more than willing to share my knowledge of a certain.. _something_.. that just might be the ticket you need to get home.”

He stood from the table, and was satisfied to find that Jack kept his seat and puzzled expression. “Now then,” he held out his hand, palm up, “All that you have to do is allow me to borrow your sword.”

And _that_ had precisely the effect he was anticipating. Now it was Jack who looked like he had tasted something bitter, for only a moment when his expression had slipped. Leonard resisted the urge to laugh at the face he made, but could not resist a smile. _Oh_ , he thought with a certain smugness, _this is going to work like a charm_. There was no doubt in his mind that the samurai was genuine, but these tests would serve a duel purpose. First and foremost, they’d be a convenient distraction from the questions about his own past—if there were any; and secondly, these tests would answer some obscure questions he couldn’t quite put into words.

“I know nothing of your customs,” Leonard admitted with carefully gilded mock-solemnity, without lowering his arm, “So, I don’t know if asking for your sword is disrespectful. But, I assure you I mean no harm, and the blade will remain unscathed just as you will… if the tales you tell are true, anyway.”

He felt like a puppeteer pulling strings. With this thought, he fought to keep his smile from growing.

Jack was silent as he removed the sword from its sash and held it lengthwise in his lap. He looked at it hard, as though asking its solemn opinion. He even looked up at Leonard, gauged him for a moment, and then back down. Leonard knew he had him right where he wanted him.

Finally, Jack spoke. “Very well. If you’re certain this is necessary, and you promise the sword will return to me unharmed.” The samurai held it out lengthwise, reverent even after all these years, and Leonard accepted it with equal ceremony and respect. Inwardly, he brimmed with an excitement that he had not felt in years.

_Well,_ Leonard thought to himself as he admired the flawless leather sheath, supple and unscarred despite the many battles it had witnessed. _It’s a good thing I’m on his side. A man weaponless is a man dead._

The samurai, for his part, remained calm as ever, his expression revealing nothing of any unease or mistrust. But perhaps that was another of those things they taught warriors, how best to keep those stony faces, Leonard mused quietly to himself as he drew the sword from its sheath and admired the dangerous edge of the weapon.

Its craft was unlike anything he had ever seen. Although it was a simple thing for a certainty, unmarked with neither ornament nor flaw, it brimmed with a power he had previously never known. Its steel gleamed like the sun, shone bright like _Justice_. Vengeance and Liberation seemed to physically reflect off its surface as Leonard watched, their promises sweet and true and pure as honey in the intense golden light of the fire. He wondered just how sweet victories won by this blade tasted. Leonard snorted smoke, dismissing these thoughts, as he turned from the samurai.

He walked to the fireplace. Standing before the grate now, with the blade held in his fist, he felt the strangest urge to pray. Should the weapon fail this test, it would be lost beyond redemption and he would have singlehandedly condemned the world to a Hell previously unknown. It was this thought, and not the fire’s intolerable heat, that made him break into a sweat. He shuddered, and his eyes went to the flames once more. He watched for a moment, waited for a likely opening, before he steeled himself and shoved the blade up to its midpoint through a gap in the bars. The flames parted immediately, as he had hoped. _Thank the Gods_ , he thought and sagged with relief.

He held it there a moment longer, marveling, before he removed the sword and turned to face Jack again, victorious. “Hellfire can melt any material placed in it,” He intoned not without a certain delight tinting his tone of voice. “Only blessed objects ever survive its inferno.” He looked down at the sword again, its wicked edge indifferent as ever, and traced a finger along its surface. “This isn’t even warmed by the flames.” He smiled in satisfaction.

Leonard noted that the samurai sat up straighter in his chair as he approached. That was mildly amusing in an annoying kind of way. “What do you plan on doing for the second test..?” Jack asked warily, seemingly unsure if he wanted the answer.

“Oh it’s rather similar to my first test. Again, nothing that will hurt you or the weapon if that’s what you’re afraid of.” Leonard assured him, deliberately sidestepping the real answer to Jack’s question. He stepped closer to the table so Jack could see him better. There was only one thing left to do, and this would be _most_ unpleasant. He gritted his teeth, hard, and quick as a flash drew the sword across two fingers of his own left hand, where the skin burned away like paper, peeled, curled, and smoldered to pieces.

Despite the pain, Leonard found himself laughing; the sound coming out sharp and harsh with his mingling pain and the relief to be done with it. That was simple enough. The pain was beyond measure, but it was a sacrifice he had been willing to make. The distraction of his two supposed “tests” had spared him those awful questions he had not wanted to answer, thank whatever gods were listening, and he would have gladly subjected himself to the holy sword again and again if it meant he could spare himself those damned questions in the future.

Of course, despite this victory, he did not miss the way the samurai had shrank away from him, as though appalled. The movement had been so subtle he almost missed it. Again, that was another of those things Jack did that he found equal parts amusing and annoying. He was beginning to see where Aku was coming from, with that endless hatred of his. All this stiff courtesy and infinite politeness was beginning to grate his nerves. Of course, another part of himself—the good part, he hoped—was appalled at such a dark thought. All this “Being a Demon” nonsense was really wearing on his sense of humanity, he realized not for the first time in recent years. It was disheartening, to say the least.

“So that’s why my kind cowers at the mention of your sword,” he hummed thoughtfully after he had calmed his laughter. “I suppose then the tales are true, and you truly are the warrior come to redeem this pitiful world. As _if_ I had _any_ doubt.” He scoffed, as though waving aside what just transpired. He sheathed the weapon and passed it back to the warrior, who quickly stowed it away as though protecting it from further disgrace.

“Did the results of your tests prove satisfactory, then?” Jack asked, not without a faint hint of hopefulness, and perhaps undertones of indignity.

“Yes, Warrior, your sword _easily_ passed my tests.” Leonard assured him, almost as one would assure a child. He took his chair, ponderously, and his Kirin leapt into his lap where it promptly tucked its legs beneath its body much like a cat. It looked to Jack with wide, innocent eyes as Leonard scratched it between its ears, and it pushed its head into his hand with a quiet noise of content like the gentle song of bells.

“Now then,” Leonard continued truthfully, his spirits still high on his previous successful act of deception, “this is information I have been saving for a rainy day. So listen well, perhaps write a note or two..” He passed him quill and parchment, should he need it, “and you’ll find, come the end of your journey, that at least _one_ demon hasn’t played you false.” He sipped from his tea, took a deep breath, and began a tale of his own.

~

Now was one of those times that Aku found himself absurdly thankful to be immortal. Between the incessant ramblings of that swine on two legs— that _pitiful_ excuse for a demon— and all this infernal _waiting_ … it was a good thing he had years to spare. Or so he found himself thinking.

He had left his citadel _hours_ ago and, now that he had been crouched in wait for such a while, Aku found himself thinking distantly that perhaps it would have been best if had he just delayed the advance like he had originally wanted to. As it was, the samurai and that loathsome creature had been talking for such a long time that Aku swore he might just barge in and end their conversation then and there if they didn’t stop soon. He just wanted all this needless talking to end.

Yes, he admitted his plans would keep; and yes, he admitted, he also had all the time in the world; but _Gods_ , how nice it would be to cut to the chase. In truth, however, he knew he still had a fair amount of time left to wait, and so his present form of choice— a black adder akin in size to a man-eating Anaconda— coiled itself more tightly around the branch he had chosen. He settled his head on the rough, crumbling bark.

Before him, there opened a screen much like the one back in his citadel. Somewhere in the long days since the samurai had returned to his life, he had picked up a few new tricks like that. Wreathed in flames which sprouted from seemingly nowhere and burned seemingly nothing, the image suspended before him revealed what was happening within Leonard’s tree, so close yet so very far.

He watched it almost without seeing. These things he saw were all the same to him; and he would be indifferent this time as well were it not for the presence of that _insect_ of a priest coming into and out of view. He narrowed his eyes as he watched. Those few years ago, when he had passed through the nearby village on his search for a likely pocket of rebellion, he had happened upon the creature’s misfortune entirely by chance and had leapt at the chance of a soul, free for the taking.

Apparently, the man Leonard Madison—for he _was_ a mortal man at the time—had a daughter who lived many miles away. And it just so happened she had fallen ill with a certain incurable disease, as mortals were wont to do. Some kind of blood illness, leukemia or something to that effect. Aku did not care to learn its name. All these mortal illnesses were the same.

When Aku had accidentally revealed his powers in the village, what else should the holy man do but fall to his knees, and beg for his help. Apparently his God hadn’t answered his prayers quickly enough, and the daughter had been given only a week to live.

Sneering with derision, yet not without a certain delightful whisper of irony, did Aku deign to help the blasphemous, overweight bastard.

One soul, which had been faintly gray with sin when he drew it from the mortal’s chest (rather than the customary off-white he had come to expect from priests and other such holy men), it had hardly sated his appetite whatsoever. It was a trifle morsel, to be certain, yet a deal was a deal and he had held his end of the bargain. But, it was still to his great delight that he _lied_.

He smiled now to think about it. _I’ve done all I can, but I sense that your daughter is no longer with us_ , he had said, or something quite like that. The fool quite literally burst from the trees—for they had performed the ritual in the dark of the forest, well away from the village— wreathed in his newly acquired fire. The creature had felt a grief black as the Hell he would come to know; Aku knew this, because he could feel it rolling off the creature in _waves_. Gods, how savory that suffering had tasted.

Aku had watched as the newly-minted demon set about demolishing all things in his path. The creature’s shrieks of anguish sounded quite satisfying to him as he watched a fellow demon abuse his new-found powers, much like he himself had those many millennia ago.

Ah, such a sight made him proud. His work in _this_ village was done.

_But still_ , he thought as he coiled tighter still around the branch, _I have no tolerance for those who abandon their faith. It serves him right to think I had cheated him._

He scowled in displeasure at the memory of such a horrendous act of blasphemy, and would have crossed his arms in annoyance… had he not been in the form of a snake. Instead, he coiled more tightly around his branch of choice, hearing the wood creak in protest yet again beneath his coils. Distantly, he almost thought he could hear the tree screaming. There was another amusing thought.

His branch was situated well up above the other trees, so high up that none other besides the great behemoth that was Leonard’s could rival it. Aku and his horde lay encamped on the farthest edge of the black forest’s circumference. From here, he could easily see Leonard’s tree, where the samurai and the other demon were still chatting away, same as he could have seen the gargantuan thing from miles away.

Looking at it from this close, even though he was a great distance from it all the same, Aku couldn’t help but think the other demon was just showing off by growing such an unnecessarily large tree. Even when he himself had grown his own tree house in the “Hermit Heist”, as it had come to be known in his mind, his had never been so very… superfluous, for lack of a better word. He could scarce imagine why any one person would need a home that large.

_Nobody_ outclassed Aku at magic. _No_. _One_.

Beneath his tree and spreading a grand distance to either side, a small assembly of WarBugs™ lay in wait newly outfitted with the deadliest upgrades his scientists could muster. His abominations had with far more patience than he did, and for that he was thankful. If the robots should move without his say so, his plan was as good as scrapped.

Since their summons, the robotic insects had quickly organized themselves into their respective platoons, and had since remained impossibly still, in the way that robots do when tasked to remain so. Not a single unit had moved even a step since they had organized themselves. No one shifted to a new position, adjusted a wing, nor extended a newly-outfitted proboscis. The lay was tensely still, each a predator poised to strike.

He looked down at them now, and was struck with how perfectly menacing the insects had become. Sure, they hardly looked different, but should one see their upgrades in action... Well, Aku was certain that onlooker might start whistling a different tune.

Firstly they were all outfitted with a fire-breathing apparatus, a nozzle quite similar in appearance to a proboscis that could be extended from between their silvery jaws. Their reservoir of biodiesel, green and renewable as any forest (aside from, well, this one), had been engineered to be long-burning and intensely resilient to traditional methods of dousing.

Secondly, the bugs now ran off solar power. Their hard outer shells were now outfitted with an intricate network of interlocked micro-panels capable of absorbing enough power to propel the insects for a minimum of 100 hours after a single full charge.

Third, their eyes were now outfitted with heat-detecting rods so they could detect life in unlikely places, seek it out, and eradicate it. They had also been given night-vision that enabled the abominations to work just as efficiently in pitch darkness should available heat signatures be too abundant, indistinct, or impractical. They had even been outfitted with an x-ray, should all else fail.

All units had also been given their own pair of wings, these far larger, less rigid, yet more durable than the last. They truly made a fearsome sight, when they carried the mechanical deliverers of death airborne to clot out the very sun.

As their crowning improvement, their Artificial Intelligence and hive-mindedness had been fine-tuned. The longer a battle stretched, the more the insects would learn of their enemies’ battle tactics and how best to counter them. If one unit was in trouble, other units would rush to its aid. They coordinated their efforts, made up for another’s shortcomings, capitalized on one another’s strength. They were One, and the thought brought Aku another surge of wild glee.

All these improvements made the insects far deadlier than their predecessors and had even earned them a new affectionate nickname from their depraved creators in the laboratory. Aku scoffed at the memory. “Firebugs” was hardly an intimidating name at all. He probably would have chosen something better, like “Hell-Beetles” or something.

He looked back to his screen, and sighed in blessed relief. Leonard had _finally_ finished talking. Perhaps that was why the forest suddenly seemed so quiet.

He and the samurai now stood in the entrance hall of Leonard’s tree. Jack slipped a piece of parchment up the sleeve of his gi while Aku was watching, and he narrowed his eyes in contemplation, somehow thinking that had he listened more carefully to the other demon’s televised rambling, perhaps he would know what was written there. No matter, he would know soon enough. Finally, Leonard stepped past the samurai and grabbed for the handle of the door.

Seeing this, Aku spoke aloud abruptly, and all the insects bristled beneath him as they heeded his every word. “Listen well!” he boomed, his voice so loud it shook the very trees.

“Level the giant tree, destroy the samurai, and—” he paused, thinking of how best he might complete the command. Finally, he spoke again. “When I am in sight of the samurai, I want you to attack me as though you are not under my command. Attack me as though you seek to kill me, and do not relent even if you hit me, even if I fight back, even if I pretend to be in pain. As your Commander, your _Emperor_ , your _Creator_ , let it be so.”

“Go.” And they did.

Aku watched their progress with the thrill of bloodshed and deception coursing hot in his veins.

**Parting Words (07/30/2016):** For those of you who are wondering on why I chose to give Leonard a Kirin.. At first it was just because I like the idea of Kirin, but then I read their Wikipedia article and I found this particular snippet of text:

_“…Qilin only punish the wicked, thus there are several variations of court trials and judgements based on qilin divinely knowing whether a defendant was good or evil, and guilty or innocent, in ancient lore and stories...”_

Thus, I decided that Leonard having a pet Kirin would be most appropriate, seeing as he is not truly wicked. As for what I mean by that, well, you will just have to wait and see.~


	4. Eyes so Red and Familiar

**Author’s Note (** **3/31/17** **):**

Aku’s supposed “greatest disguise ever” is put to the test. ;)

Also, how about that new season though, amirite?~

**Warnings for this chapter:** General pandemonium.

**This Chapter was first published March 31 st, 2017 and last updated ** **March 31 st, 2017** **.**

The forest was ominously quiet when Jack stepped back out into the creeping darkness of early evening. Dark magic still thrummed mercilessly through the air, just as it had during the day, and Jack had to stand in the doorway of Leonard's tree for a moment to brace himself before he stepped back out into the thick of it as the sudden change in atmosphere was almost jarring enough to make him queasy. He had forgotten just how unpleasant the outside air really was compared to the tranquility within Leonard's tree.

Overhead, the moon was rapidly rising in the sky, and the blackened husks of the former trees were silhouetted in its light—looking like knives of ice. The air was briskly cold and growing colder by the moment the longer he stood there-- despite the blanket he wore round his shoulders, which Leonard had given him for his journey.

"You come again now, you hear? Anytime you want a free meal and a safe place to stay, I'd be happy to provide," called Leonard down to him from his doorstep, and Jack gave him a tiredly-grateful smile and a respectful bow before the demon retreated back into his house, leaving the samurai alone with his thoughts once more.

The delicate powder of snow which drifted down slowly from overhead frosted everything in a glittering white that was beautiful and sparkling in the moonlight. Jack sighed quietly to himself as he stood there, savoring its brisk chill on his skin and in his hair, as it was a nice change from the unpleasant heat of Leonard’s living room.

But Jack quickly shook thoughts of this beauty from his mind. If his premonition was correct, the snow was only just getting started. Come morning, the countryside would know wintertime.

With this thought in mind as he began the short walk out of the clearing, Jack was absurdly grateful for having visited Leonard. The demon had been surprisingly generous with him compared to the other supernatural beings Jack had met; both in terms of parting gifts for the journey ahead, and in terms of his guidance.

Jack pulled the worn, patchwork blanket tighter around his shoulders, thankful for its every stitch as he considered the demon’s gifts. He had received provisions enough for three days, nonperishable foods and some water, which he now carried at his side in a traveler’s tote; the blanket, that Jack now draped tightly round his shoulders; and lastly, two very important pieces of parchment, both of which he had stowed away in his sleeve for safe keeping.

The first parchment, useful only for that night, bore the demon’s signature and a simple phrase written in his elaborate, flourishing script. It said, simply, ‘ _I’m cashing in that favor you owe me. See to it this man is fed, watered, and kept for the night._ ’ Jack was to present this parchment to the owner of the inn up the road in exchange for a free night’s stay and complimentary breakfast. Leonard had apparently once done a great favor for the inn keeper’s husband some years ago, and he was confident they’d allow Jack a night’s stay in exchange for this previous service.

The second parchment, however… Jack hesitated in his stride and withdrew it from his sleeve. He studied it for a moment in the moonlight, holding the page taut by the corners as if it was his last link to the waking world.

Here could be found the tired dregs of his hope.

**_“_ ** _Pass beneath the Claws and emerge unburned;_

_Climb the Peaks and glimpse a Future, affirmed;_

_See things Unseen; know Eternity’s dreams._

_See what has Been. Know what will Be._

_Comprehend the Flow which doth bless and curse._

_Find Life amidst Death; embrace what none hate worse._

_Skirt the Realm of the damned; unravel the Stream strand-by-strand._

_Glimpse these and you’ll know things that no others can. **”**_

This poem, which had apparently come to Leonard in a dream three weeks before Jack’s arrival, was to be his only direction for his next venture into the unknown.

~

_“It_ _’_ _s the damnedest thing, Jack,” said Leonard as he reclined back in his armchair. “I’d never dreamt anything like it before.”_

_“I was floating in a darkness so thick I couldn’t see my hand before my face—if I even_ had _hands, that is—and all around me, there was this incredible sense of peace and rightness. I felt like I was in the presence of something greater than myself. Greater, even, than Aku if you can believe it…”_

_The demon looked down as he stroked his Kirin between its ears. “There was this indescribable_ power _all around me,” he said quietly, almost reverently. “It made my strongest magicks look like a drop of water in the ocean. A candle, if you will, against the sun...”_

_Leonard trailed off into thoughtful silence. He stared hard at a dried spot of ink on the table, seemingly grasping at something that coiled at the edge of his memory._

_The crackling of the wood in the fireplace was soothing in the silence, and Jack was reminded distantly of the last time he’d been a guest in someone’s treehouse; only then, it had been under much less friendly terms. So long ago, when Aku had disguised as a Hermit… Then, it had been so easy for Jack to see through the demon’s bad intentions; had been so easy for him to find a way despite the trials. But now…_

_It had been 7 years since then. He hoped this meeting would be enough to put his path to rights once more._

_“ **And then--** ” said Leonard suddenly, breaking from his spell of thoughtfulness and jarring Jack from his troubling thoughts. The demon’s eyes were still fixed to the spot of ink. “Out of nowhere, this voice—the voice of a woman I had never met… it spoke to me out of the darkness…_

_It called me by name and introduced itself as nothing more than ‘a friend’. She gave me this poem, claiming it was something very important for me to remember, and I’d know what to do with it when the time came.”_

_Leonard looked up again, meeting Jack’s bewildered expression with eyes that were sure of what they’d seen. “Needless to say, I immediately wrote it down when I woke up, and I set about doing whatever research I could to try and make some kind of sense out of it.”_

_He huffed a laugh. “Today, I admit I’m not much closer to figuring it out, but I know you’ll make some use of it.”_

_The demon sipped from his tea and sighed. “Now that you’re here, I know you’re the one she wanted me to pass it along to…”_

~

Jack mentally gave himself a shake. First and foremost, before he could even consider what the poem meant, he had to get out of the forest.

There was a certain smell in the air… Just barely perceptible, it lingered like decay beneath the pungent reek of dark magic. Heady and unpleasant, Jack vaguely recognized it from his travels in the city, and he was sure he hadn’t noticed the smell that afternoon.

 The samurai huffed sharply, pushing the smell as far from his person as he could. It was subtle in the air, hardly noticeable; the smell of danger. Of wrongness.

_There was something in the forest that didn’t belong._

Never one to doubt his instincts, Jack tensed, allowing the blanket and tote bag to slip off his shoulders and pool in the dirt. One hand inched slowly for his sword, and he readied his stance for a danger that wasn’t yet present. He reached outwards with his every perception—straining to see into the darkness of the trees and listening hard for the faintest sound.

Around him, the forest was deathly quiet. If not for the faint thrum of magic which still buzzed all around him just as strongly as it had during the day, there wasn’t a sound. But, then—

_There_.

Somewhere at the edge of his hearing, there came the faint crash and groan of rotten wood tumbling to the ground.

And _there_ : the distant hiss of hydraulics and the coldly familiar _chink_ _chink chink_ of hundreds of bladed limbs gouging into the dirt.

Just as the samurai had feared.

_How could Aku’s army have found me so quickly!?_ He asked himself, but there wasn’t much time at all for him to think on this, for the creatures were upon him within seconds.

He drew his sword and held it before himself by way of a challenge as the first of Aku’s robotic insects breached the edge of the clearing and made its way towards him. Behind it, its fellows followed in a rush and they circled Jack in a tide. The samurai tightened his jaw, but stood tall and unafraid in the midst of circling death-- despite the fact that adrenaline was now thundering through his veins. He didn’t flinch whatsoever as the insects abruptly ceased their circling and stared him down.

The insects all stood upright as one and locked their bladed forelegs together, forming a fence of unkind steel through which Jack could hardly see the surrounding forest, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. _That was a new maneuver._

Through the gaps in the fence, he could see other insects joining the ranks. These newcomers circled just like the first wave before finally assuming staggered positions outside the veterans of the charge. Their forelegs upraised menacingly, as though the insects meant to keep Jack right where he is, but they don’t stand like their brothers. Not yet.

The insects were so near, Jack could see himself reflected hundreds of time in the facets of their acid green eyes.

Jack grew very still.

_Wait._

Icy cold sweat drips down his brow and runs in rivulets down his neck. He has to swallow his heart in his throat.

The unusual smell that accompanied the insects today, their change in eye color, the new tactical maneuvers… _What… What was the meaning of this!?_

His suspicions were aggravated when he noticed one of the insects to his far left was drawing a hose-like appendage back into its silvery jaws. A suspicious amber-colored drop of liquid oozed slowly from between the monster’s metallic teeth. Jack watches it run down the monster’s chin and drip sluggishly to the ground, looking like drool, and his eyes widen a fraction as he realizes why that heady, unpleasant smell seemed _so familiar_ and why everything here tonight seemed so dreadfully, unbelievably _wrong_.

He _recognized_ that smell. It was the smell of _diesel fuel_.

At that moment, there came from overhead a tremendous commotion not unlike the blades of a jet turbine descending from the night. Then came the sound of snapping wood and shattered glass, and Jack knows still more bugs have lit on Leonard’s tree.

Before Jack could make the first move, he stood up straighter in alarm. A brisk clicking sound almost like that of flint on steel echoed hauntingly from the edge of the horde. Jack could only watch in horror as one of the robotic insects at the edge of the group gnashed its ugly silver jaws together, sending a fountain of sparks scattering to the ground.

Time seems to stop. The sparks bounce for a second too long and-- **_WHOOSH!_**

The sparks ignite diesel fuel, unleashing a massive explosion that knocks the samurai to the dirt, and huge chunks of rotten wood and earth are sent flying to clot out the stars overhead.

When Jack heaves himself to his feet, the forest around him is alive to a hell’s chorus of crackling fire and snapping wood _._ His hands and knees are scraped and bleeding, and his gi is torn at the knees. Behind him, Leonard’s tree has gone up in flames, and a number of its flaming limbs are hanging over the forest like the imminent claws of damnation. There is a crater at the edge of the clearing in the wake of the explosion, and a great number of Aku’s insects are in pieces, their robotic innards flaming as though they had sacrificed themselves to fuel this Hell.

A bloodcurdling scream rips from Leonard’s tree, and the insects are silhouetted in the firelight like demons.

With a yell, the samurai swung his sword in a ferocious arc of steel and brought it down, expecting to slice effortlessly through the first of the surviving insects that had upraised its blades to meet him. His mouth fell open with surprise as the insect deftly met his sword mid-strike and parried his cut with a slice of its own. The fabric of his gi shredded somewhere at his midriff, and the insect’s blade drew a shallow cut along his skin that stung harshly in the cold night air. _A warning._ The samurai ignored the pain and kicked out, sending the bug sprawling just in time for another to scrabble over it and take its place.

Seeing an opening somewhere to his left, where the bugs have yet to close the gap, Jack bolted for Leonard’s tree. The sound of crackling fire and the hydraulics of pursuing insects was loud in his ears as he wrested open the front door and ran through the entrance hall, dodging objects or otherwise pushing them to the floor in his haste. Behind him, the bugs forced themselves through the doorway by crawling in sideways, and Jack could hear their bladed limbs gouging deep into the wood as they scrabbled to force themselves inside.

Bursting into the living room was like being thrust into the middle of a woodstove. The fire hungrily arced up the walls and through the bookshelves like a beast that’d been freed, and all around him Jack could hear the giant tree groaning as though it means to collapse. There comes from outside such a commotion of falling wood and broken timber that Jack knew the insects were tearing the tree to pieces.

From somewhere in the smoke, there came the shrieking of Leonard’s Kirin, sounding like so many bells out of sync.

“Leonard!” Jack charged into the room and pulled the demon, who had been kneeling to gather up his Kirin, to his feet. When Jack hefted him upright and shoved him out the living room door without a further word, his only thought is on getting them both out of the tree alive rather than the thud of something hitting the ground behind them as Leonard is forcibly shoved outside. He slams the door to Leonard’s tree in the face of the three bugs who had attempted to follow them back outside, and it’s not until they are safely out that he realizes his mistake.

Before him, the surviving bugs have completely encircled Leonard’s tree, leaving no available avenue for escape, and behind him, the tree was ablaze. They were trapped.

“What now, Jack?” Leonard yelled above the roaring of the fire, and the bugs step forward as one—as if on cue. Jack gritted his teeth and stood protectively before him, his gaze hard and determined.

“We fight until we find a means of escape,” Jack answered simply, and the bugs stepped forth once more.

The Kirin _shrieked_ in its desperation to be freed, but Jack ignored it. He was busy counting the surviving insects.

A third step, and there was hardly space enough between Jack and the nearest insect for him to breathe. Not counting the ones that were busy tearing apart the tree, there were no less than 50 bugs left standing.

The samurai raised his blade,

And—

**_YAHHHH!_ **

A man’s battle cry echoed piercingly from somewhere within the flames, and a _ll goes still._

A tremendous dark shape came barreling out of the fire and into the midst of the insects, sending them scattering or otherwise crushing them beneath the beast’s giant forepaws.

The smoke cleared a fraction, and Jack couldn’t believe his eyes. A dark-skinned man brandishing a sword and wearing a cloak and armor about his shoulders, sitting astride a huge, dark grey dragon stood in the midst of the decimated insects.

The stranger caught Jack’s eye for a moment, looking down at him with eyes red as blood, before disemboweling another of the robotic insects—shoving his sword up to the hilt in the bug’s midsection and pulling it back out amidst a fountain of oil and sparks.

A shiver, like premonition, shook through Jack’s very bones. _Where had he seen those eyes before..?_

The stranger’s dragon roared, then, as it swatted aside three more insects, and one of them is sent flying towards Jack and Leonard. The samurai leapt out of the way, but Leonard is not so fortunate. With a dismayed cry, he shields his Kirin with his body and braces himself for impact—

But nothing happened.

Jack looked to the stranger again, and his palm is upraised in Leonard’s direction. The destroyed insect that had been about to crush him is hovering strangely in midair only inches away, like magic. The stranger flicked his hand dismissively in some other direction, and the insect resumes its momentum in the direction of the gesture, this time bowling over three of its fellows. The force of the impact sent them skidding in the dirt, huge gashes torn in their shells, where they lay without moving.

“Come with me if you want to live!” the stranger yelled in their general direction from atop his mount.

Jack hesitated for only a second before grabbing Leonard by the arm and running with him to the dragon, where they quickly clambered up onto the saddle.

Right as they are about to take off, however, Leonard’s Kirin finally wrested itself from the demon’s grasp. Jack could only watch as the little beast scrabbled over his lap and proceeded to rip its little teeth ferociously into the stranger’s cloak. All the while, it was screaming its furious song—the bells echoing loudly over everything else, even the sound of falling timber as the giant tree began to lose its foundation.

Bright white flames erupt around the little creature’s teeth, singeing the stranger’s cloak fiercely before the man turned abruptly, almost impatiently, and lunged. With a strength that was almost shocking, the man grips the Kirin effortlessly round its midsection and heaved it to the ground like a ragdoll, where it landed with a sickening crunch and lay still.

“NO!” Leonard made as if to disembark from the saddle, but it’s too late.

“YAH!” the stranger yelled, cracking the reigns, and his dragon took off at a bound, leaving the little Kirin, the clearing, and the bugs behind.

The beast was running too fast for Jack or Leonard to even think about letting go, and before long the sounds and heat of the spreading fire are long behind them as they broke from the forest and out into the open. The dragon beats its wings with a roar, and soon they’re aloft.

Airborne now, the only sound was Leonard’s sobbing and the whistling wind. So high up, the air was all but frozen, and Jack clung to the stranger’s waist like a lifeline. To either side, all that could be seen was cloud cover, sooty-grey in the moonlight like so many others’ dreams and lives up in smoke.

They traveled in a stupor of silence for a long several minutes before Jack thought to say something.

“ _Who_ are you,” he demanded suddenly, his voice rough from the smoke. “ _What were you doing in the forest_ , and _why_ did you help us?”

“So many questions,” observed the stranger casually, seemingly not at all offended by Jack’s suspicious, if not outright accusatory tone of voice. He looked over his shoulder; catching Jack’s eyes again with his—and still, the samurai couldn’t help but think those eyes were so very _familiar_.

“I could be asking _you_ the very same things,” said the stranger by way of dismissal before turning round to face forward again.

“I’ve been visiting those woods for years now, and this is the first time I’ve _ever_ seen you.” He snarled. “Is it any coincidence that our first encounter just so happens to coincide with the first day that Aku’s bugs make it this far north?

It was against my better judgment that I saved you. After what I’ve done tonight, you can bet you’ll be seeing my name on the Wanted Lists by tomorrow morning. As if I needed _any more trouble_ from Aku.”

It was a long few seconds before Jack finally thought of an appropriate answer.

“Regardless of why you did it.. Thank you,” he replied honestly, his voice coming out so quietly that his words are almost lost on the wind. “If you hadn’t revealed yourself… I’m not sure what we would have done. Aku’s bugs have never been--”

The stranger _scoffed_ , cutting him short. “You’re welcome,” he said impatiently. “Just don’t expect me to be there for you _again_ , because it’s _not_ going to happen. It was _luck_ that put you and I in the same forest tonight, nothing more and nothing less.”

Jack couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say to that, so the ride quickly lapsed back into tense silence. He could feel Leonard shaking behind him, so wracked was he with sorrow at the loss of so many memories and hard work, but _still_ nobody said a word.

Jack had already opened his mouth to ask again just _who_ the stranger was, when he noticed him lean forward a fraction and murmur something against his dragon’s scales. Suddenly, the clouds were rising around them and the ground was drawing up from out of the white. A lodge loomed before them, set upon a hill; a candle was burning weakly in its highest window.

The dragon landed close beside the inn in an ungraceful flurry of snow and ash, its wings splayed so widely that they clipped the edge of the inn’s sign, causing it to swing wildly and noisily in the otherwise dense silence of the evening. After turning around in his seat to look them over and make sure everyone made the trip in one piece, the stranger disembarked from his dragon with an acrobat’s catlike grace, his stance sure and confident as he landed kneeling with one gloved hand supporting his weight in the snow. He stands and, with an expression that could only be described as tired distaste, he offered his arm to Jack and Leonard to help them down.

After a moment’s hesitation, in which Jack gives him another of his searching, mistrustful looks, the samurai took his arm and clambered down from the dragon’s saddle. Leonard, meanwhile, completely disregards the offer and disembarks on his own, leaping down and landing unsteadily in the snow. He walked into the lodge ahead of them, his shoulders hunched against the cold and his gaze downcast.

The samurai shivered despite himself when he looked up at the lodge. His heart was heavy with so much sorrow as the snow billowed mercilessly around him.

In the distance, the burning forest was a hardly visible coil of smoke billowing into the sky, and Jack was certain that the bugs could not possibly know of their location—not now that they were so far away. From here, the pyre of Leonard’s tree was the brightest thing in the distance, its light glowing innocently like a candle’s flame as it burned high into the night sky, and Jack had to look away lest his bitterness get the better of him.

The samurai sighed, grasped tiredly for the tatters of his willpower, and began to walk towards the lodge, leaving the stranger behind to tend the dragon.

~

Some hours later, the night was deafeningly silent as Jack sat by himself in his room. There was a gentle draft coming through a crack in the mortar, and it unsettled the hair that had fallen loose from his topknot, blowing flyaways into his face, but the samurai didn’t bother to fix it. He sat hunched over, indifferent to the relentless cold and the gentle draft of snow which drifted gently into the room, his head resting heavily in his hands.

No fire was in the grate.

No candles were lit.

All was still as the samurai sits in blessed darkness, drinking in the silence.

He sighed shakily to himself as he sat there, fighting the crumbling sensation he could feel taking root deep in his soul. _Seven years_ was a long time to be doing something, yet make no progress. _Seven years_ was a long time to be thwarted at every turn without fail—to have one’s hopes dashed on the rocks with every new day.

To take one step forward one must first take ten steps back.

The samurai lifted his head to look out at the darkness of his room, uncaring that the room was so plain, for it was _safe_ and that’s what mattered. Visions of flames danced in his eyes as he stared hard into nothingness, and he could still smell soot on his skin; could still feel the ash in his hair. Could feel it under his nails.

The cut on his stomach was stinging fiercely now. At this rate, if he doesn’t clean it, it would surely become infected. He puts a hand to it subconsciously, and draws in a sharp breath as he touched tender flesh, and his hand came away damp with blood. It hurt more than he thought it would. Of course, it didn’t help that his hands were still cut from his rough landing earlier. And for that matter, his knees were stinging fiercely too. His eyes fell closed once more, and he allowed his head to fall once again into his hands, uncaring of the stinging pain. A lot was on his mind.

He wanted to think. Really, he did. But, he couldn’t hold onto any one thought for very long at all before it would flit away, and another would take its place.

In this manner he passed the next hour. Hunched against the cold, he stared hard into the darkness, allowing the events of that night to wash over him—allowing the sensory memories to flash into his mind. Each, more painful and vivid than the last.

He recalled the demon’s scream as his home was invaded.

The icy feeling of dread—colder than any snowfall—trickling into his heart when the smell of diesel drifted to him on the wind.

He recalled _the stranger_ , with his eyes so red and _familiar_.

But the thing he remembered **_clearest_** was the Kirin, and its needlelike teeth ripping and tearing for all it was worth into the stranger’s cloak. The flames which billowed round its teeth had given off no heat that Jack could feel, yet they singed the man’s cloak almost right through to the leather tunic that he wore underneath.

Kirin were supposed to be gentle creatures. Creatures of divine justice, they only attacked those who were—

Jack sat up straighter at once.

_They only attacked those who were truly evil._

_Those eyes._

_The Kirin’s sudden ferocity._

_Please,_ he prayed to whatever gods were listening, casting his eyes to the ceiling as he lay back in his bed. _Gods, don’t let him be who I think he is…_

**Parting Words:** Thanks for sticking around and continuing to support this little fic even though I take forever to post new chapters, you guys. ;w; Your support really does mean a lot, and I love seeing new comments and kudos! Like really. Y’all are the reason I keep doing this.  <3

Chapters 3 and 4 were the really tough parts for me, but chapters 5+ should be a whooole lot easier since I finally have an idea of what I want to happen haha.

P.S. If you like my interpretation of Aku, you might consider dropping by my RP blog that I run for him! Find us both at false-majesty.tumblr.com

P.S.S. Aku’s new human form that I’m using for this fic can be found here: https://cobalt-draws.tumblr.com/post/155460805606/finally-finished-this-after-like-two-or-three


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